


A Tactical and Necessary Distraction, Definitely

by orphan_account



Series: #FairGameWeek2020 [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Fair Game Week (RWBY), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23256535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Qrow paused, looked him up and down, and then the edges of his lips twitched upwards. “Can I tempt you to a dance?”Another stunned silence followed his words, like Clover wasn’t quite sure that he heard him right. “Can you… what?”“It is a ball,” Qrow pointed out. “We’ve been standing around doing nothing for a while now.”
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: #FairGameWeek2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666546
Comments: 10
Kudos: 81





	A Tactical and Necessary Distraction, Definitely

**Author's Note:**

> #FairGameWeek2020 - Day 6: Atlas Ball
> 
> Look, idk how this is supposed to relate to canon either, I really just ignored the real timeline entirely to give them a nice night off, but you know what? They deserve it.
> 
> Jumping through a bunch of hoops to justify turning it into a masquerade was less necessary, but... I wanted it. That part was for me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! <3

Qrow only felt a _little_ ridiculous.

Thanks to the recent massacre in Mantle, James had demanded they increase the security measures for the event at the Schnee manor. If that had been all he’d said, Qrow wouldn’t have had a problem with it. But the general went on to insist that posting armed soldiers at every corner would only cause stress amongst the guests, and supposedly, that just wouldn’t do.

So, Mantle being in ruins was apparently forgivable, but Brothers forbid these stuffy Atlesians had to face the (very real) possibility that Atlas had been infiltrated, too. No, it was deemed better to make sure they _felt_ safe, even if they weren’t. Salem’s forces could have another attack planned, either to finish off Robyn, or to take Jacques or another council member out of the picture, but it was more important that Atlas _looked_ impenetrable. Right.

Still, it wasn’t a decision for Qrow to make. James wanted the huntsmen to blend in with the crowd to avoid causing unrest, so blend in they would. Apparently, his best idea for _that_ was to turn the event into a masquerade ball.

Because that definitely wasn’t a double-edged sword, and it definitely wouldn’t make it harder for _them_ to spot intruders, either. …Yeah. James had been making stranger decisions with each passing day. Maybe it was best that Qrow allow him the small victories where he could. Giving him this one seemed like a wiser decision than backing down the next time he tried to ignore Mantle’s problems, anyway.

In any case, the guests were now expected to come donning masks.

Cue Qrow feeling a little ridiculous.

Team RWBY had, of course, been thrilled about the change of plans, and had run off right away to find the perfect masks. Qrow had told his nieces to pick something out for him, too, since he couldn’t have cared less about it all.

Perhaps that was his mistake.

It wasn’t that the mask they’d brought back for him was nauseating to look at. It wasn’t too colorful or bright for him, unlike the gaudy beast of a mask that Nora had found for herself. In all honesty, it was far from being terrible, but it did feel just a little bit… on the nose.

It looked like a bird.

It was mostly black with a few crimson accents, particularly around the eyes and edges, and the black sections were layered in a way that emulated feathers. Instead of having a normal, small indentation where the wearer’s nose was supposed to go, the mask sprung outwards a few inches before curving down into a point. In other words, it looked very much like a small beak. Because… of course it did. What else should he have expected, really?

“You know, we’re supposed to be subtle,” he’d said, when Ruby had first shown him the mask.

“Aw, c’mon, Uncle Qrow,” she’d whined, with a grin and a shine in her eyes. “How were we supposed to get you anything else after seeing this one? It’s perfect for you!”

Be that as it may, getting something ‘perfect for him’ when the goal was to blend in seemed like a questionable choice. A mask with a beak didn’t exactly scream, _Hey, I’m_ not _actually the bird man you’ve probably fought before_ to potential enemies, after all. If anything, it did the opposite, by drawing attention to the fact that, _Oh, that guy’s got some bird imagery going on_. Then again, maybe it was so obvious a choice that enemies wouldn’t be able to connect the dots, because _surely_ the guy named Qrow wouldn’t wear a crow mask when he was trying to look more anonymous.

Well, turns out he would. And he was.

Needless to say, Qrow felt a bit silly any time he caught a glimpse of his reflection. He knew he shouldn’t, since many others—especially some of the native Atlesians—were donning far more ostentatious masks. They had to make everything into a wealth competition, didn’t they?

Beyond the mask, Qrow wore a maroon shirt with somewhat billowy sleeves, the silk cool against his skin where it touched. He had a black vest on over it, which had twirling lines of a dark, ashy gray threaded across the entire surface. Simple, dark slacks rounded him out, though silver accents were scattered throughout the ensemble as well—cufflinks, buttons, a fake studded earring. Perhaps most notably, though, Qrow had gone without his usual cape, and every part of him hated it.

It felt like such a stupid, little thing to be annoyed about, but he’d gotten used to the weight of it around his shoulders. Now, his back felt too exposed. Realistically, one more layer of cloth wouldn’t protect him from much of anything, but over the years, it had still become a comfort to have on him.

Maybe, after so long of being alone, it was nice to feel like _something_ had his back. Even if it was just a scrap of fabric.

His earpiece crackled to life, rousing him from his thoughts. “Alright, team,” an increasingly familiar, deep voice said. “Keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious activity. Don’t stay in one place for too long. Act natural, try to enjoy yourselves, but _keep your guards up_.”

A small chorus of _roger_ s and _understood_ s punctuated Clover’s words, and Qrow stole a glance towards the manor’s front door just in time to see the leader of the Ace-Ops make his own entrance.

His first thought was that he’d never seen Clover wear long sleeves before. But after that, all Qrow could think was that he didn’t want to look at anything else for the rest of the evening.

His outfit was one of the plainer ones, comparatively speaking, but his black suit was perfectly tailored and did him a _number_ of favors, which Qrow deeply appreciated. The shape of his mask was smaller and simpler than Qrow’s, but the colors were vibrant and he could pick out the design from across the room. Its base color was a top-to-bottom gradient of emerald green to silver, but on top of that was an intricate, twirling pattern of the same colors, but reversed, so that silver lines twisted through the green parts of the mask, and green curls cut through the silver portions. His tie, in a perfect, symmetrical knot, was the same shade of emerald green.

As Qrow continued to watch him, a smile halfway between fond and amused tugged at the corners of his mouth. For all his talk of subtlety, Clover didn’t seem to have the best grasp on it himself. He turned his head too quickly, with too much purpose—it seemed obvious that he was looking for something, or someone, out of place. Not to mention, it was a ball, and he was wandering around the middle of the dancefloor looking a bit too much like a lost little kid.

Well, that wouldn’t do. A handsome huntsman like Clover had no business being stuck amongst dancers without a partner of his own. If he were anyone else, Qrow might’ve let him flounder about by himself, and if you’d asked him even just a month ago if he’d ever seriously ask one of Ironwood’s special operatives to dance, then his only answer would’ve been to laugh in your face.

But then they got to Atlas, and he met Clover, and… and Clover was different. He was down-to-earth and charming and strong and pretty much in a prime position to sweep Qrow off his feet. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already been trying, anyway. Every interaction they’d had seemed laced with the intention of romance, from the lingering gazes to blatant pick-up lines and smiles a bit too broad to simply be _polite_.

While flirting had been the last thing Qrow expected out of coming to Atlas, he’d started to get over the initial shock of being the target of it, and he was more than ready to play along. Why not? Frankly, he was curious to see if reciprocation would fluster Clover, or if he’d be able to take it in stride, like he had with everything else they’d faced so far.

Plus, Clover still looked a little lost. Mostly, Qrow just didn’t want him to compromise the mission.

…No, that was a lie. He didn’t care much about the mission. He just wanted to flirt with a handsome man. Sue him.

So, Qrow began to pick his way through the crowded room towards Clover. While the latter didn’t seem used to stealth and subterfuge, it was a role Qrow played very well. Maybe spending the last several years gathering intel for Ozpin had its advantages, after all. Of course, his shapeshifting ability helped with a lot of that, but not all of it. He still had to master the art of anonymity as a human, too, as not every location had been appropriate to infiltrate as a bird. It was with practiced ease, then, that he dipped in between guests and skirted around pairs of dancers.

And, indeed, Qrow did an excellent job of vanishing into the crowd. He didn’t look very much like himself at all. His shoulders, normally hunched over to a concerning extent, were pushed back for once, and his typically sluggish gait had been replaced by a purposeful saunter that _maybe_ involved more hip movement than was strictly necessary. To be fair, he did have his mind set on flirting.

“You seem a little tense,” Qrow said as he reached Clover’s side.

Clover’s gaze snapped to his, and though Qrow couldn’t see his expression very well thanks to the mask, the beat of silence that passed before he replied said enough about his surprise at Qrow’s sudden arrival. Just as quickly, though, a smile stretched across his face.

“Do I?”

“Out of your element?” Qrow inquired with a slight tilt of his head.

“The Ace-Ops are typically a more direct bunch,” Clover admitted. He gave a good-natured shrug and nodded at Qrow. “You certainly seem to feel at home, though.”

“I’ve had my fair share of practice.” Qrow paused, looked him up and down, and then the edges of his lips twitched upwards. “Can I tempt you to a dance?”

Another stunned silence followed his words, like Clover wasn’t quite sure that he heard him right. “Can you… what?”

“It _is_ a ball,” Qrow pointed out. “We’ve been standing around doing nothing for a while now.”

Clover looked around for a moment, before nodding towards a cluster of people standing across the room. “There’re plenty of wallflowers,” he said, voice strained just enough to be considered defensive.

A low chuckle rumbled out of Qrow’s throat. “The thing about wallflowers,” he said, taking a step closer, “is that they tend to stay over there by the walls. Not in the middle of the room.”

As if to prove his point, a dancing couple swept by them then, spinning close enough for the leading partner to squeak out a quick apology for the proximity.

“It sounds like you’re just making excuses to me,” Qrow continued, and then with a surge of confidence, he took yet another step closer to Clover, this time surely encroaching upon his personal space, and reached up, draping his arms loosely around the other man’s neck. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to dance.”

The subsequent, third silence of the evening made Qrow think that maybe Clover wasn’t so impossible to fluster, after all.

“Does the general strike you as the kind of man to be keen on dancing?” Clover asked, after a moment.

Qrow gave a thoughtful hum. “I don’t know. _Atlesian Ballroom Dancing_. That sounds about like the kind of stuffy class I’d expect from an uppity place like this, yeah. Maybe.”

His words were steady enough, but his earlier confidence was wavering now, just slightly—Clover hadn’t moved, his hands still hovering awkwardly at his sides. He hadn’t pushed Qrow away, either, though, but it still left them looking a little out of place, like they weren’t about to dance, but instead about to…

Qrow’s eyes flicked down, tracing the outline of Clover’s lips. Distantly, he felt he had a change of heart—he was abruptly _very_ grateful that this was a masquerade ball, as heat rose to his cheeks.

Before he could do anything else, though, a strong hand pressed against the small of his back and drew him impossibly closer, until their chests were almost pressed together. Qrow smiled, equal parts relieved and thrilled.

“Well, I’m afraid Atlas Academy wasn’t all that concerned with dancing,” said Clover, his suddenly tempting lips drawing back into another warm smile, “but I wouldn’t count me out just for that.”

“Yeah?” Qrow let one of his arms fall away from Clover’s neck. The now free hand sought out Clover’s own, and he linked their fingers together without giving it much thought. “Care to lead, then?”

Clover gave a huff of laughter, squeezing Qrow’s hand in his own. “No, by all means, take it away.”

Except, as Qrow began to take them through the first few steps, he realized that he hadn’t completely thought this through. He knew how to dance, of course—he’d attended enough parties during his time at Beacon to account for that. But high school parties weren’t exactly…

Well, needless to say, ballroom-style dancing wasn’t necessarily Qrow’s area of expertise.

But Clover’s hand fit so perfectly in his, and the closeness was damn near intoxicating. Qrow wasn’t going to back down without a fight. So, lead them he did, all around the ballroom. One, two, step. One, two, step. Easy enough, in theory. And, honestly, they weren’t terrible. A bit clumsy, perhaps, with a few stuttering steps and a handful of kicked shins or crushed toes, but passable.

“I’m sorry,” Clover said with an apologetic smile as they spun towards the edge of the dancefloor. “I think I’m worse at this than I thought.”

Qrow laughed, like the notion of Clover being bad at anything was ridiculous. “It’s not you,” he confessed. “I’m a little out of practice.”

“It’s fun, though.”

Another smile. “Yeah.”

They kept at it for a while, eventually settling into a pace that worked for them both. They weren’t the most graceful pair in the room, but frankly, they only had eyes for each other, so a trivial comparison like that was the last thing on their minds. Deep down, as they danced, Qrow couldn’t help but think about how nice this felt. How normal. It was easy to forget, at least for a moment, about all the problems and the stress. The world teetered on the edge of war, but for just one night, Qrow let himself get lost in the gentle music, the swaying steps, the warm hand on his back.

After a while, they decided to take a break, flushed from all the movement (and _maybe_ from being so close to each other). A third figure approached them a few minutes later, arms crossed. Clover straightened as she approached, though he didn’t put any additional distance between himself and Qrow.

“Harriet,” he greeted, voice level.

“What was it you said about keeping our guards up, _Captain_?” she asked, voice halfway between accusatory and teasing. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Did something happen?” Clover asked, shoulders tensing.

Harriet unfolded her arms, moving one hand to a hip instead. “No,” she replied, exasperated. “Not _yet_.”

The confirmation made Clover relax immediately, and he grinned. “Perfect, then. Keep up the good work.”

Harriet sighed, almost heavily enough to be a scoff, and Qrow could all but _feel_ her roll her eyes. “With all due respect, _sir_ , we have a job to do here.”

“Sounds like we’re doing it pretty well,” Qrow cut in, lifting his chin. “Could probably do it even better if you watched for trouble instead of watching us.”

“Just keep it in mind, _please_ ,” Harriet said, lifting a hand in a blatant, _Stop, I’ve heard enough_ gesture.

With that, she turned and headed away from them, plucking a glass from a waiter’s tray as she went. Clover turned back to Qrow.

“You know, she _might_ have a point,” he said, though the smile he still wore said he thought otherwise.

“She might,” Qrow agreed. He paused, and then tipped his head with a grin of his own. “But we were blending in _so_ well.”

An exaggerated, thoughtful hum rose from Clover’s throat. “We were, weren’t we?”

“It’d be a shame if we started sticking out _now_.”

“Real shame.” Clover waited a moment before he extended a hand towards Qrow. “Care for another dance, then?”

Qrow let out a huff of pleased laughter and placed his hand in Clover’s open palm.

Maybe this night wasn’t so bad, after all.


End file.
